


Hungry Forever: How I Learned to Shut Up and Love the Apocalypse

by loosenoodlepoodledoodle



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/F, Multi, Parody, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 04:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosenoodlepoodledoodle/pseuds/loosenoodlepoodledoodle
Summary: Katniss and Madge volunteer for the Greatest Show on Earth. But is there more than meets the eye?





	Hungry Forever: How I Learned to Shut Up and Love the Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> This is a porn parody. It is meant to be absurd, and filthy. My sister's boyfriend read it out loud at a party, too, so I guess that's a recommendation of sorts...

            When I wake up, sunlight is streaming in through the window. I follow its path, to a spot where it caresses a pair of beautiful pink tits. They’re Madge’s, of course; poetic justice for being cut from the movies. I bury my face in them in a way that is both super hot and endearingly sweet.

            Madge stirs in response to my boob-nuzzling: “Hey there, slut.”

            I giggle; really, she is so much nicer when she just lets it all out. And I love being called a slut.

            Madge pulls me in close, kissing me, and I have to resist the temptation to tongue her to death or even use my nose. Morning breath is the silent killer of relationships.

            She starts to nod off back to sleep, and I take the chance to slip out of her embrace. After all, I have roots to gather, turkeys to shoot, and Gale’s dick to suck.

            I’ve only just finished putting my clothes back on when I hear Madge get up. “Wait,” she murmurs.

            I turn to face her, and my breath is taken away. Last night, when she finally confessed her love for me, we totally did it, but we had the lights out. Don’t want the servants to notice that the Mayor’s daughter is having hot Sapphic sex all night long with one whom at best is a peasant girl, and at worst a dangerous criminal. So basically, I had never gotten the Full Monty of Madge until just now. “Woof,” I whisper.

            Madge smiles and holds my hands in front of her chest. Obviously, I cop a feel. Without skipping a beat, she tells me her thoughts.

            “You and I, we make a great couple. Maybe we should volunteer for the Games.”

            For a moment I am not sure what to say. Then I come to my senses and exalt, “Fuck yeah, baby!”

            We share a highbrow movie-type of kiss, and then I leave for the forest. As I sneak out her window, Madge says quietly, “Give Gale my love. Slut.”

            I nearly lose my grip and fall to my death from stifling my laughter. Madge doesn’t really seem to mind that Gale and I are fuck buddies. In fact, if Gale wasn’t such a doofus while being around Madge, I get the feeling that she would be totally down for a three way. But oh well, Gale’s loss.

            Speaking of which, even if he and I were inclined to date, we wouldn’t have time to. He’s been spending too much time down in the mines, ever since he graduated three years ago which means EVERYONE IN THIS PARODY IS AT LEAST EIGHTEEN AND LEGAL, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, so what little time we get together we spend hunting. And fucking.

            I reach the gate in the fence and use my keycard. No sneaking underneath, the powers that be in District 12 enjoy my meat too much to risk my electrocution.

            That phrase did not have any other meaning, least of all a sexual one, but I am pleased to see that you are now thinking of such.

            I find Gale sitting in the shade of our favorite boulder, pants around his ankles, with his dick in one hand and the latest issue of _Capitol Cunts_ in the other. I can see from the cover that this week’s centerfold is none other than District 12’s very own escort, Effie Trinket. Given what is happening this afternoon, I decide it must be auspicious. Without so much as a greeting to Gale, I dive right in.

            We do everything. Anything the reader can imagine, and some things beside that one cannot imagine. In fact, we spend the morning redefining the meaning of the word climax. And however good you think that was, trust me: it was even better.

            Thus satisfied, we cuddle in the shade, my only concession to his mixed feelings for me. I’m sure that was foreshadowing something. Anyway, I glance at the magazine, vaguely feeling a sense of Christian wonder at the myriad ways Effie has allowed herself to be fucked, when Gale mutters something from beside me.

            “We could do it, you know.”

            _We just did_ , I think with a smile.

            “Compete in the Games. Win. _Pay for college_.”

            I consider it for a moment. Ever since President Trump destroyed America, people have struggled to pay for lots of basic things. The Games were his Supreme Galactic Eminence’s sole attempt at compromise. Ever since they began, there have always been volunteers, but most people rack up crushing debt simply from being charged for all the prep fees. When most of them lose, they are forced to take menial driving jobs for Uber, in the Capitol. It is high risk, but the right couple could make a splash…

            “That’s funny, Madge asked me about the same thing this morning.”

            Gale frowns. “You saw Madge already?”

            “Yeah, we spent the night together.”

            Gale sits bolt upright. “TELL ME EVERYTHING.”

            As I spill every juicy detail, Gale’s cock returns to full salute. But once I reach the end of my tale:

            “Oh no! Katniss, my balls are turning blue! Punch them, quick, before it is too late, and I turn into an Acox!”

            I go the extra mile and give his nuts a field goal kick. Gale screams like a banshee, but it was the right thing to do. Normal color returns to his balls, and he breaths a sigh of relief. “Thanks, I was almost a goner.”

            An acox is a man whose genitals have withered and fallen off, turning him into a slave of the Capitol. It was a weapon used in the Dark Days, when the rebellion first began in earnest against President Trump. The Great Pumpkin Lord thought a fitting fate for those who opposed him was to have their cocks withered away, along with their manhoods. He had no specific punishment in mind for female rebels; competing in Miss Universe was punishment enough. But even all these years later, the poison gas was still endemic in much of the districts. It was triggered by excessive horniness. Climaxing was the normal way to overcome its danger, but in an emergency, pain could do the job just as well.

            By this point, I was back at Madge’s house with Gale and the food we had gathered in the background of the last paragraph. Madge answers the door in a hot white dress with thin straps. It appears she is wearing nothing underneath.

            Gale drools out the word: “Wow.”

            Madge gives him a look, unsure if he is being serious or not. Eventually, she decides he is. “Well, if I’m going to the Capitol, I want to look hot, right?”

            Gale frowns. He does that a lot. “Yeah, about that…”

            Suddenly I decide that this conflict between whom I love and whom I merely like a lot was one of the things weighing down the original books, so I make the obvious choice and leap into Madge’s arms. Our kiss and embrace is so perfect, it is the doom of mankind. Gale shrieks into the wind, “ _Curse you TRUMP!_ ” as his crotch spontaneously combusts and he transforms completely, not into an acox, but into a wendigo, a wraith doomed to haunt the winter hills for all eternity.

            But at least I don’t have to regret my choice.

            I head home and pass through the kitchen and living room on my way to the shower. My mom is sitting at the table, smoking a joint and trying to figure out her bills. She’s been in that same spot for two days, and it sure is starting to stink. Prim, on the other hand, is high as a kite off the secondhand smoke, watching stupid cartoons. I get to the bathroom and clean myself up, and then set to work on my looks. Nobody volunteers for the Games without getting dolled up. I manage to find one appropriate dress, a little black thing that skirts very close to slutty without quite going over the threshold. Naturally I use it for job interviews. He may be dead, but this is our Eternal President’s America after all.

            Soon enough, I’m ready to go with Madge to the square. Mom is still in lalaland, but Prim is with it enough to say, “Well, try not to have _too_ much fun.” I snicker as I pass out the door.

            I get back to Madge’s house soon enough, and she drives us to the reaping in her sports car. It is literally a requirement that all District mayors and officials flaunt their wealth. When we arrive at the square, she parks the car and we quickly check in. We are effectively given the V.I.P. treatment, not just because of Madge’s father, but because we are obviously serious about competing. Most of the people from District 12 who volunteer are just trying to make a quick buck; it is something of a secret that you have to pay for everything yourself. I only know because Madge told me one time, and she only knows because she’s Madge.

            The Mayor is already standing near the podium, and when he sees us, he blushes and rushes off the stage. It seems that Madge did not bother to prepare him for her decision. So instead, Head Peacekeeper Cray has to read the speeches. Just before he starts, Effie Trinket appears with Haymitch Abernathy in tow. Her gorgeous boobs are practically bursting out of her too tight dress, and she is leading Haymitch around by the cock. Haymitch himself is looking a little less disheveled than usual, although he doesn’t really need it to pick up chicks. Instead, they naturally gravitate to him, because he looks just like Woody Harrelson. In fact, that’s his porn star name!

            Cray starts his speech in earnest, telling the tired old tale of the End of America, and how one man, _just one man_ , Made America Great Again. About how he singlehandedly thwarted the efforts of the mad scientists and evil hippies to lie the world into submission and Chinese domination through stories of so-called “ _global warming_ ” and “ _climate change_.” About how those scientists and hippies thought they had the last laugh when they tried to embarrass The Golden One by deliberately melting the icecaps on purpose! About how He finally overcame them by inventing immortality, curing death, and usurping God. And ultimately, about how President Snow restored balance to the Force by pulling the plug on Trump’s brain while his adamantium cyborg body was in the shop for cleaning.

            Yet, because President Snow’s own tastes were hardly dissimilar from the God of Success and Winning and Money and Poontang, we were still stuck with the Hunger Games.

            The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. Each year, the districts of America the Great and Sexy, Ye Holiest Holy Land of All Times Old and New, and Holy, must send a male and female of traditional college age to compete in what turned out to be the fucking Greatest Show On Earth. I mean, if you win, it sure beats stripping your way through college. Originally, the plan was for the contestants to fight to the death, but Trump, Our Lord and Savior, thought in his infinite wisdom that “if we’re just trying to humiliate ‘em, why not just make ‘em shoot a porno? Isn’t that the greatest goddamn idea you’ve ever heard?”

            Everyone in the universe said, “Yes, Mr. Trump,” and that was that.

            Madge and I ascend the stage, and the crowd goes wild. It turns out that we are one of District 12’s most shipped couples. Effie and Haymitch both give us hungry, feral looks, and we are whisked away after a brief, teasing farewell. We board a short transcontinental flight to the Capitol, because in a dystopic future where hoverplanes exist but the government is either too poor or too stingy to feed everyone, an airport network would be far easier to maintain in remote areas than a high speed train that is only used once a year.

            Shortly after takeoff, I spy the old monument to Kasich in downtown Columbus. It is surrounded by a wasteland, and the famous quote, “That train is dead,” is clearly visible. It turned out to be a fitting epitaph for the state of Ohio, which was undone not by drought, famine, disease, or war, but by Trumpian tax cuts. Pretty much every tax was cut, and the state collapsed because it couldn’t pay for basic maintenance. But knowing this does me no good; long-winded explanations are what drove the Democrats to extinction.

            We land in the Capitol and are inducted into the Mile High Club. We didn’t do anything, the membership committee just assumed since we were on a plane with Haymitch that we both got laid. But the inflight food was terrible enough to kill our libido.

            The Remake Center would change that. We both get makeovers that turn us into luxurious porn stars. Our stylist, Cinna, decides to try a fire theme. But instead of some stupid fake flames or something, he just gives us some flickering body paint to emphasize our hotness. It is not too subtle for the crowd, and we win accolades all around.

            But not everyone appreciated our appearance. The Career Tributes, all graduates of Porn Star School, leered at us angrily for stealing their thunder. I must say I am definitely looking forward to our makeup sex in a few days.

            For some reason the tributes are not all thrown into the arena at once, but instead a grossly inadequate training period is required. Since this is a sex parody, it is all about endurance training. Madge and I show up the first day and realize there are only 21 other tributes present. Madge figures out why before I do.

            “See that odd Rue-shaped void in space and time in the corner over there? That’s where the last tribute should be. But there’s really no way to write a parody like this and have room for what was originally a twelve-year-old kid is there?”

            I frown. “There would be if this was a Harry Potter story.”

            “Quiet you,” Madge shushes me.

            We direct our attention back to the training room in front of us, where an awkward orgy is in full swing. I realize at this point that the training sessions must be to break the ice. If everyone was still nervous when the cameras were going in the arena, then the resulting porno would be quite frigid indeed. I take just a moment to reflect on the supreme genius of Donald Jesus Trump when Madge grabs my hand and we dive in.

            A few days later we are ready to enter the arena. We had actually had some TV interviews the night before, but they were short and really revolved around dropping some dumb sex jokes, so they got left off the DVD. The arena itself is right next door to the training center, much more practical than the idea of building a new arena in the wilderness every year. The arena itself is simply a studio that can be made to look like any outdoor environment. One time, they filmed an episode where everyone slid naked down the side of the Great Pyramid!

            We all enter our individual launch tubes to start the show in dramatic fashion. Our outfits today are shorts and button-up t-shirts, easy enough to remove in a hurry. We emerge from below to find ourselves in a classic picnic setting. The holographic walls providing depth to the backdrop are not as impressive as I thought they would be. But the pile of pillows, mattresses, and sex toys under the cornucopia exceeds my expectations.

            Before I can even begin to contemplate the fun times that await, the starting gong sounds, and the most eager of the tributes are off like a bullet. I decide to start things a little more slowly, and take in the sights. About halfway to the center, I encounter the dude from District 9. He is in a similar horny daze, and I decide he should be my first quarry. I hope the ghost of Gale is watching from Hell somewhere.

            Suddenly, while I have just gotten down on my knees and his dick in my mouth, Clove, the girl from District 2, decides to show up and cock-block me. She tackles 9 from behind, knocking his dick out of my mouth, and gives him a violent reach-around. She does, however, make sure to dick-slap me in the forehead hard enough to knock me back. When 9 climaxes, Clove aims it all over my face just to humiliate me.

            His jizz just fuels my thirst for revenge. When Clove shoves him aside, asleep with a shit-eating grin on his face, I leap forward for the metaphorical kill. But Clove is too fast and strong, and easily wrestles herself on top.

            “Oh, now I’ve got you where I want you, fire girl,” Clove croons sweetly. She’s pinned my hands underneath her, so all I can do is fingerblast her. But her hands are free, so she unbuttons her blouse to reveal her magnificent knockers beneath. I swoon in ecstasy.

            Clove is practically beside herself with joy. “Okay, slut. We are gonna reenact the most fanfictionable scene from the book.”

            I know exactly which scene she is talking about: the feast. If you don’t remember, go read the cliffnotes. I, however, am quite worried. If Madge doesn’t show up soon to rescue me, I’ll be eliminated from the first round. Basically, scoring works by ranking us by who was clearly the most dominant in each particular instance. Clove has already stolen number 9 from me; if she can finish me off here and now, I am done. Uber for life.

            Just as Clove’s bazongas blot out the light from reaching my eyes, I see hope in the form of Madge’s silhouette. She’s naked, and glistening with something that excites me. I black out for a second, and when I come to, she has Clove in a boob-lock, like a headlock but only for boobs. I slip my hands free and we double team her so hard, that we all fall in love. That turns out to be fortuitous, because Clove is eliminated, and the two of us decide to buy out her driving contract so she can move in with us.

            The next day, round two is set to begin. The only competitors we have left are Glimmer, the sexy slut from district 1, and a redheaded chick from district 5 whom I decide to nickname Fuckface for no apparent reason. I mean, pretty much every tribute could be called that. There are never any males left for round 2, by the way, because they seldom last for more than two minutes the first round.

            Fortunately for Madge and me, both Glimmer and Fuckface saw the replay of us and Clove last night, so there is no competition. They both choose to willingly submit to our every desire, and we win by default. We also pay off their debts with our prize money. We make plans for all of us to go to college together. Our major? Sex ed, of course.

            But first, there is the victory celebration to attend. It happens in private at President Snow’s mansion. Hint hint. But the five of us are ready and eager for anything.

            Unfortunately, the President seems a little too distracted from our pleasures. He keeps messing with his smartphone. I manage to sneak a peek at what app he is using.

            It’s Twitter. Then it dawns on me, in horror: it was Trump all along! He must have switched bodies and posed as Snow! As I contemplate the eldritch truth that I am an insignificant speck in an uncaring universe, I whisper what I have discovered to Madge. Her face loses all color, but then a tiredness comes to her eyes. Wise beyond her years, I ask her what else there could be.

            She answers: “I think he must have done it to sleep with Ivanka.”


End file.
